


Zen and the Art of Potion Brewing

by Lorelei



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Felix Felicis, Gen, Potions, no dunderheads allowed, zen brewing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 20:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12516300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorelei/pseuds/Lorelei
Summary: Severus has had quite enough of hormone-addled teenagers for one day. Only the peace and quiet of his lab can rescue a day as foul as this.





	Zen and the Art of Potion Brewing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlterEgon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlterEgon/gifts).



Severus Snape stalked into his private quarters, slamming the door behind him. It had been another shitty day in a month full of shitty days. Even by the standards of this benighted month, the dunderheads had been particularly trying today. Longbottom, the cowering incompetent, had melted another cauldron during potions class, despite the best efforts of the Granger girl to nanny him into total emasculation. Potter and Weasley had been infuriatingly well behaved, giving him no opportunity to deduct House points and thus thwarting one of his few daily pleasures. Lovegood had not only smiled at him but had the gall to keep beaming cheerily no matter how much he scowled and sneered at her. And his Slytherins weren't helping matters any. Crabbe and Goyle had been caught shaking down a Hufflepuff for his chocolate frogs, thus disgracing the house; Parkinson was running a black market in contraceptive potions, which he privately thought was both enterprising and to the civic good but had been required to publicly condemn when Filch had brought it to his official notice; and Lucius wished to speak to him about Draco’s grade on the last essay. On top of all that, there had been toad in the hole for supper. He couldn't abide toad in the hole. It always looked to him like severed fingers poking out of his Yorkshire pudding.

Waving a hand to wordlessly ward the door, he closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath. Releasing his nose, his breath, and a small measure of tension, he opened his eyes and looked around his room approvingly. There were no dunderheads allowed here. It was quiet and filled with books overflowing their shelves, a well-stuffed reading chair, and a warm fire. Best of all, beyond the door tucked in the far corner was his private laboratory. 

Severus hung up his robes and frock coat and rolled up his sleeves as he walked over to the door of his lab. Inside there was peace, silence, and order. No one would torture him or expect him to torture anyone else. No one would offer him a lemon drop and then send him back into the arms of a sadistic madman. No one had their hand raised. No one would even speak to him. His workbench was spotless, ready for the evening's brewing. Cauldrons were organized by material and size. Copper, brass, pewter, and silver cauldrons each had their own shelf with sizes ranging from thimblefuls to barrelfuls. The top shelf held his collection of rare specialty cauldrons, one gold, one obsidian, two jade, and one custom-made muggle pyrex lab glass. Next to the cauldrons, a cabinet held ingredients, carefully labeled, most in clear glass jars so he could see when anything was running low, but a handful in amber glass to protect them from light. The truly valuable and the truly dangerous components were stored in a locked safe, of course.

He paused at the cabinet to collect an egg, a bulb, a jar of shell fragments, a root, a powder, a jar of murtlap scrapings, and tincture of thyme. Standing at the bench, he drew his wand and said " _Accio_ #2 copper cauldron" with a flick and a flourish. The cauldron obediently flew across the room and made a gentle landing in the middle of the work surface. Taking up a set of forceps, he carefully removed the frozen ashwinder egg from its jar, lowered it into the cauldron, and released the freezing charm so that it sprang into red-hot bloom. Next he began to chop the horseradish root. His movements were practiced and precise. The pieces of horseradish were tiny and uniform. He scraped them into the cauldron and set a heating charm to provide gradual warming. Juicing in the squill bulb, he began to stir vigorously, completely absorbed in the art and science of brewing. Dunderheads, death eaters, meddling sweet-sucking white-bearded headmasters, and toad in the hole were all forgotten as he settled into the mental and physical flow required of a challenging potion. 

He chopped up the murtlap scrapings and added them to the cauldron, turning up the heat with a flick of his wand. Now was a moment for patience. Sometimes the job of a potion master, like that of a spy, was to wait and to watch. As the first bubbles began, he tipped in the slightest dash of the thyme tincture and began to stir slowly. He found stirring very meditative. He could lose himself in concentrating on nothing but the movement of the spoon and the contents of the cauldron. As he stirred, more and more of the day’s tensions melted away. He added the shell of the precious silver occamy egg, ground, and resumed his slow, steady stirring. There was nothing but breathing and stirring and a little more heat and a little more patience. His shoulders were no longer hunched up around his ears and his brow was smooth.

Now! It was finally the moment for action. He quickly sprinkled in the powdered rue and began to beat the potion briskly. One last bout of vigorous stirring, one last burst of heat, and the potion began to dance in its pot. Laying down the spoon, he took up his wand and traced a figure eight over the cauldron, with an authoritative _“Felixempra!”_ The potion immediately turned thick and golden and Severus was satisfied. It would take six months to cure, but with a little bit of luck (hah!) he would have six months before things came to a crisis.


End file.
